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After twenty-one years of solitude, the Beast was surprised to find himself suddenly lonely. In fact, the feeling had hollowed out the space under his ribs. He spent some time leaning on his balcony rail rubbing his sternum with his heavy paw, baffled by the unwelcome feeling, before it occurred to him what it was. He couldn't remember ever feeling this way. He'd known anger and contempt, sorrow, self-loathing, liberal doses of fatalistic resentment, but never this... whatever it was.

He grunted and turned to lean on the stone rail, and his thoughts immediately served him an image of Belle in a red velvet dress by the fire, a book in her lap, her eyes lit with the spark of something he almost couldn't recognize as she skimmed the pages. It was delight, of course. A moment later, her eyes lifted and skewered him with eager intent, and she'd read the passage aloud. For the life of him he couldn't remember what the words were, but his stomach flipped thinking of her face and, more, the way she'd immediately looked for him to share. They'd spent the entire day in the library, her reading, him on the floor pretending not to watch for her subtle expression inflections. They'd only left for dinner, and that had ended less than an hour ago. And the Beast realized he was lonely.

"I spent the whole day with her," he groaned, scraping his claws on the eroded stone balcony railing. "I should be sick of her!" He growled and dropped to all fours, prowling into his suite, hoping for something unbroken to find its unfortunate self in his path. Most of the furniture was long since reduced to splinters. So he paced to the rose and mirror. He reached out a paw and found it settling on the iridescent white handle of the mirror. He hadn't really completed his plan before he was holding the reflective surface before his face and muttering "Show..." a flicker of moral hesitation before..."Show Belle to me."

If he couldn't be with her, he could watch her. It was only as much as he'd done all day.

Framed by the whorls of the mirror and a green whisp of magic, Belle lay on her bed on her side, hugging a pillow, her chin tucked. She sighed, the sound echoing from the mirror, and the beast's thumb slid over the cool surface. His heartbeat slowed, calmed, and the ache in his stomach eased.

Her expression changed. Eyes squeezed shut, her cheeks flushed crimson, and her lower lip disappeared between her teeth. The Beast blinked, dizzied by a surge of... response.

She pushed her cheek into the coverlet on the bed, and he couldn't tell if she was mortified or pleased by whatever thoughts had triggered the expression. She squirmed and pushed one hand firmly between her knees. It slipped back, between her thighs, and the Beast stopped breathing because she was pressing her fingers into the juncture of her thighs, pulling the clingy velvet of her dress in to show every hidden curve. Soon she rolled onto her back and spread her knees to touch herself more boldly. The Beast reeled. He reminded himself to start breathing again.

He should put down the mirror. With horror, he felt his palm reaching for the waist of his pants, and he sat down hard, snatching the hand away. What was he doing watching? What was he doing wanting?

The mirror translated a muffled sound like a whine. What was she doing... to herself? Slowly, hating himself, he raised his eyes to see.

Belle had drawn up her dress. White stockings stopped at mid-thigh, ending in lace garters. The Beast whined in shame and arousal. Her fingers slipped over the silken white of her undergarments, which were growing damp, and the Beast felt his own pants tighten. His mouth was dry. He was beyond putting the mirror down. Now he struggled with his response. He would watch, he told himself, but he wouldn't do anything about it. He wouldn't touch himself. He wouldn't go that far.

Until her hand slipped under the ruffled edge of her underthings, and he saw her fingers move under the thin, damp white fabric. She gasped and her head fell back. Growing impatient, Belle withdrew her hand and pushed the undergarments down and off her feet, movements frantic. Her fingers glistened in the light falling through the window. Instead of returning to her position on her back, she hesitated and settled on all fours. Her movements were slow. The Beast wondered if this wasn't a position she normally pleasured herself in. Her thighs trembled as her hand hovered between her thighs, and she bit her lip again--the Beast panted once at the sight--before stroking her glistening cleft with one finger. She moaned. The Beast moaned. She swirled her fingers in her folds, soaking her hand before one finger disappeared inside.

The Beast trembled and nearly lost hold of the mirror.

"Oohhh..." Her moan was soft and involuntary, and she bit her lip again immediately to stop the sound. Another finger slid in alongside the first, and her folds stretched around the intrusion, slick and easy. The Beast growled, imagining how much more stretched she would be around two of his own fingers, how she would moan under his meaty paws, how he would make her give them to him, her sounds of pleasure, rather than teasing him with her infuriatingly bitten lower lip. Better yet, he would make her read to him from one of her beloved books while he stretched her with his fingers, rewarding her for sharing both of her pleasures with him simultaneously.

He gasped, breath shallow, and knew his thoughts were shameful, and his actions moreso. He was hot from head to toe, and he throbbed, heavily aroused. He almost made the decision to put the mirror down when she slipped a third finger into herself and pushed all three in hard. Her voice quivered when she moaned and said, "Y-yes, please, oh please... B-beast..."

The Beast cursed and palmed himself, dropping the mirror. He unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them down roughly, wrapping his paw around his straining flesh. He nearly unbalanced himself when he used the hand he'd been leaning on to flip the mirror right-side up. Belle was still on all fours, fingers thrusting and fluttering in her cunt, skin flushed, expression focused and euphoric. She rode her fingers, her palm flush to her clit, and panted. The Beast imagined the much louder noises she'd make, begging for him to mount her, to fuck her hard and without restraint. His shame at his thoughts gave the pleasure a forbidden edge. He held off his climax until he saw her tense, pushing back onto her fingers before she shuddered her release and moaned a high clear note. He came hard, desperately, barking a growl of sharp relief.

Gravely, he flipped the mirror over, shocked at himself, and oh so hungry for more.